


The widower of Tanery Base

by ms_cataclysm



Series: Bonsanklar AU [2]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Bonsanklar AU, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Time Period: Vordarian's Pretendership, sundry offstage Vorkosigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_cataclysm/pseuds/ms_cataclysm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piotr being Piotr</p>
            </blockquote>





	The widower of Tanery Base

The widower of Tanery Base

Piotr had hated Tanery Base since his first night in the bunkers there. He had never been under any illusions about his feelings about enclosed spaces underground. He had coped as a vor should with the endless round of visits to hill men in their cave homes and as a child he had even joined the other boys in exploring the local cave systems . If he had always been eager to suggest a visit to the stables or a ride to the lake instead, no one had thought anything of it . Everyone knew that the old Count was horse crazy and young Lord Piotr was obviously going to be just like him. 

None of the old vor bore historians who had droned on about his daring and energetic campaigns in the Cetagandan wars had ever caught on either. If they only knew how many of his raids had been made simply because he could not bear to spend more than a few hours hiding in the caves . He'd even told prosy old Vorfolse the straight truth and the fool had taken it for a soldierly jest. 

Fifty years on, Piotr still hated caves. And Tanery Base was worse than a cave with the eternal too-bright lights, the dead-tasting air and half a mountain of rock and concrete over his head. The bunkers were crowded too . Piotr had split the commander's suite with Aral and Cordelia but everyone else was sleeping in shifts in the big underground dorms.

So General Piotr Vorkosigan had continued to raid, ambush and patrol almost as if he were still the young guerilla leader of fifty years ago, snatching a few hours sleep in the back of a ground car or rolled in a foil lined tarpaulin behind a guard post . He couldn't avoid Tanery Base completely but if he was tired enough, he could usually manage a few hours sleep in his coffin of a room. 

When he couldn't sleep, he prowled the corridors, his progress marked by a ripple of tension as sentries stood up straighter , analysts watching over silent commconsoles tried to look busy and the sergeants in the mess room playing poker tried to look relaxed and unconcerned. There were too many men on night shift and not enough to do but there weren't enough bunks to go round if they didn't run three full shifts .

Even with the distractions of exhaustion and claustrophobia, Piotr was too experienced not to pick up the warning signs of troops with too little to do and too much time to think. Automatically, he ordered training exercises and security drills , exchanged a casual-seeming word or two with the men he passed and silently caught the eye of the sergeant who seemed to be winning a little too much a little too often. The prowls became regular patrols , a deferential tail of officers padding as unobtrusively as possible behind the little general, partly to transmit his orders, partly to run interference for their peers and partly, Piotr suspected, as punishment duty. His suspicion was confirmed when the too-lucky sergeant joined the retinue a few nights later . 

Usually he'd finish up in the kitchens . The catering corps did not suffer from any shortage of work with three full shifts to feed . Space was another matter. In the first week, there had been two serious knife fights and a vegetable chef from the night shift had nearly decapitated a pastry cook from the swing shift who had got flour over his chopping board. Clearly, the inspiring floor to ceiling mural of the Vordopoulos armsmen's last stand against the second Cetagandan tank battalion decorating the mess hall had not been one of Dono Vorrutyer's better ideas. 

After that, they had given up trying to work all three shifts out of the bunker's kitchen and set up two field kitchens at opposite ends of the old ministry of political education's rooms. Fortunately, the night shift and swing shift chefs had been delighted with the brightly lit expanses of white tiling, the convenient floor drains and the abundant power points of their new homes . Day shift had been equally happy to get the old kitchens to themselves. 

Piotr had sent out a scouting party to buy whitewash to paint over the mural and transferred the vegetable chef to Sergeant Bothari's squad. The sole remaining political officer, Lieutenant Vormeunier, hadn't been happy at the desecration of a valuable work of art or being left to plan the spontaneous celebration of the emperor's birthday without pastry cook or offices . Piotr had offered the Lieutenant a personal interview with Admiral Vorkosigan to discuss his concerns and the political officer had subsided so fast that Piotr had almost felt nostalgic for Grishkov. 

The kitchen wars still boiled over at intervals so Piotr found it politic to test the temperature . Usually the quality of the refreshments and tableware provided on his visits was a pretty good indicator of guilt. This morning he was relieved to see a steaming glass of black tea and a plate of Dendarii style maple sugar pancakes . Probably nothing worse than a meat cleaver thrown at a sous chef then . 

Not that Sergeant Bothari would have minded another recruit but Bothari had been missing for days with Aral's bitter firecracker of a wife. Sergeant Bothari had saved her once but it would take more than a way with a knife to bring her safe from Vorbarra Sultana this time. 

And even if Bothari persuaded her to turn back from her self-imposed suicide mission, they had all said too much to knit back into a real family. He wasn't stupid enough to think that his son would meekly court some Vor bud and produce a son if that bloody woman never came back either.

He wished, not for the last time, that he'd managed to bag one of the Vorkraft girls for Aral before Ezar had made it so clear that he had plans for both . If Aral had shown the slightest interest in Kareen or Alys...

But then he should have made himself marry again after Olivia had been killed. It had been expected of him ; after all he was no older than Aral was now . No older and no less stubborn . It was typical, Piotr thought, of his younger son that he was always at his most annoying when he repeated Piotr's own mistakes. The familiar thought was comforting and Piotr finished his breakfast in a better mood than he had begun it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a Comms Captain with a flimsy. Piotr's attention was caught by the excessive seniority of the messenger. Important and urgent then … and despite the Captain's regulation poker face not bad news either. 

“Sir, Major Vorpinski's compliments and there's a broadcast from Vorbarra Sultana with imperial codes. It appears that the Princess and Lady Vorkosigan are holding Count Vordarian hostage in the Imperial Bunker.”

Olivia Vorbarra's widower was silent . Livvy, he thought, I should have trusted your son better. I should have known that the woman he chose for his wife was worthy to follow in your steps. I am sorry, Livvy . I will learn and do better.

No hint of his thoughts showed in his face. He turned to follow the Captain to Comms .

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Rose's request to find out how Piotr reacted to the events in Survival . As usual, I have written with all the speed and navigation skills of a comatose ant wading through treacle . 
> 
> I do intend to potter on with this AU - and am currently working on Kareen's back story but keep being interrupted by Piotr and sundry Vor crusties.


End file.
